Sparrow
by Mei Murasaki
Summary: Oddly enough, the only one she doesn't despise at this musty, old school is the only one who despises her. Fleur/Hermione femslash.


**Sparrow**

**Disclaimer:** None of these characters or things mentioned belong to me, as they're all the property of their creator, JKR.   


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

You've been told, in preparation, how Hogwarts is such a grand, old school. Its reputation is far above Beauxbatons' and whoever the champion is should expect tough competition from theirs. Yet you're rather disappointed when you finally arrive. It's not that big, it's not that grand, and it certainly does not compare to your school back in France. There's nothing here that's worth your attention. There's no one here that catches your eye – not the old wizard in front with more beard than sense, not that young boy the others are staring at with his scar on his head. You're wrinkling your nose and busy telling your friends what you think of grand, old Hogwarts, when you see a head full of bushy brown curls from the corner of your eye. 

She's not beautiful, definitely not that and not in your league. But she's pretty in a way, pretty like a sparrow is pretty. There's something about her that makes you want to stare and you're quite infuriated at yourself that you do. Then she looks at you once and then looks away. That's an insult that you can't ignore but it's not like you were able to ignore her in the first place. You want to scream, you want to shout. You want to draw her attention to your mouth. You have other charms, it is most certainly true, but that's the only charm you wish to use on her. 

The only time she spares you a glance that evening is when you're selected as a champion. All too soon, however, her attention turns back to her friends and then is consumed by the boy who sits by her side when he's selected too. You don't quite see what she sees in such a little boy but then you remind yourself that she's just a little girl. You finally look away and resolve to forget her. 

Some things are easier said than done and forgetting her is one of them. All through the school year, she attracts your attention. You just do not get it. There's nothing spectacular about her. That thought you had about her the first night sticks with you – she's pretty like a sparrow is pretty and that's all. You're beginning to wonder if she's cruel like a sparrow is cruel and if she's already cast some sort of charm over you. You try to convince yourself that that's impossible but what else can explain your fascination over a plain, boring English schoolgirl. 

You meet her in the halls one day as she comes tumbling out of one of her classes. She's carrying the most hideous bag you've ever seen and it's clear that it's laden with books. She's looking at the ground instead of where she's going and so she runs into you. 

"You ought to be more careful. You could get yourself hurt," you say in your accented English. You wince at how inelegant you must sound in that language. Unfortunately for you, she takes that as a grimace. 

"Thanks," she replies shortly. "I'll keep that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me . . ." She walks briskly off without a single glance behind at you but that's just as well. You've lost your ability to speak for gaping at her brightness. It's at that moment when you realize just how far beyond infatuation you have gone. 

You try to avoid her after that. You think that maybe if you don't feed your obsession by trying to see her every day that perhaps you'll get over her. You hate the fact that you need to get over her – you should have never given her a second thought to begin with – but you lost your mind over her somewhere along the way. You think you need to get it back but you forget to worry about your heart. That problem becomes all too clear at that damned Yule Ball. You knew beforehand that she would attend. You didn't bother to wonder who she would attend with though you hoped she would be by herself. After all, she's not beautiful and she's barely even pretty. Boys at her age tend to be rather blind in that way, only looking for outer beauty and not looking for someone they could spend an entire life with. Boys at your age still tend to have the same problem but that works for you as you're the most beautiful witch amongst the three schools. You select an admirer with suitable credentials. He's the captain of his House's Quidditch team and you're told that he's fairly smart as well though you can't tell as he loses his mind around you. He really acts like a fool at times and you hope that you don't act the same around her. You push all thought of her from your mind although there's one corner thinking about conversations you can have with her if she's by herself. You're enjoying yourself that evening until she walks in. 

Your jaw drops. 

You thought she was at most, slightly pretty. She has a certain quaint charm of her own that made her easy on the eyes, but surely, she has nothing more. 

You didn't think she could ever be beautiful. 

However, her hair's tied back and it frames her face perfectly. She's wearing a touch of make up and a lovely set of periwinkle blue robes that complements her complexion. She's standing straight up for once and that's a wonder as she's usually bent over from her load of heavy books. There's something about her that just sparkles and shimmers in the air. Any chance you had previously of getting back your heart has just flown out the window. Any chance you had of being able to think clearly around her again has become a distant memory. She's the loveliest, most charming thing you've ever seen and you don't mind your fascination. 

What you do mind is the fact that she doesn't seem to pay any attention to you. She looks at you once, at the most, and then it's only to criticize. When you're free of all your obligations you drag your date of the evening outside although it's not quite dragging as he's very willing to follow along. After one close escape, you find a bit of privacy and you try to find some peace of mind. That doesn't come to you and in the end you're glad that he's so dense for it doesn't hit him that you're calling out her name and not his. 

You can't wait for this year to be over so you'll never have to see her again, so she'll never ignore you again. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

That's what you thought before you actually had to leave her behind. She haunts your every dream and you wish you had done something, rather than just long after her silently. It only dawns on you during that summer that maybe she was jealous of you all along, with your looks and ability to attract wizards. She probably was jealous of the way your hair flows and the way your hips sway naturally when you walk. She was probably jealous of your chest and your other curves but little did she know that she had nothing to be jealous about for they were all hers for the asking. Maybe you can bridge that gap that lies between you and her if you're ever able to see her again. 

A letter arrives from Hogwarts towards the end of summer. Not from her, you tell your heart, of course not from her, she doesn't spend her summers there. The letter's not from her but it's almost as good as one. Although your performance at the tournament last year was dismal, you managed to turn enough heads for them to offer you a position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. You send your acceptance of the same position with the same owl and rush off to tell your family. Your mother informs you that the position is jinxed for no one has been able to hold it for more than a year. You tell her that you'll beat whatever jinx there might be and when you start, you know you will. You'll be it so you can be with her. 

The only problem that develops is that teaching her is nothing how you thought it would be. She's constantly waving her hand at your questions, eager to answer and you're eager to give her a chance to speak. But you're no longer her equal – you're her teacher and there are some things you can't do. 

You're reminded of that in one encounter with the Potions professor. You usually try to avoid him. He's a dour looking man and you've never liked them, especially after she dated one. One evening as you're walking to your place at dinner, he suddenly appears at your side. 

"Good evening, Ms Delacour," he says. 

You incline your head towards him, not pleased at him stripping you of your title and deciding to return the favor. "_Bon soir_, _Monsieur_ Snape." 

"To not beat around the bush," he smiles at a private joke, "one of my students has informed me that you've been playing . . . favorites with the Gryffindors." His gaze flicks over to where she was sitting with her friends. "Particularly with . . ." 

"I could say the same of you," you interrupt him before he could finish speaking. "Particularly of one young, impressionable student—" 

"I am old friends with Mr Malfoy's family," he returns evenly. "On the other hand, I wasn't aware that you associated with Muggles." 

"I don't. Do you have anything else to say?" 

"Just that if you're feeling lonely that there are more appropriate alternatives you ought to consider." 

That ought to earn him more than a icy glare but you can't afford anything else. Later that evening, it hits you that he had glanced at another professor and he wasn't speaking of himself, but the conversation still stings. You resolve not to show her or her friends any particular attention for you don't want any trouble to come upon her because of your obsession. It isn't right, anyway, you argue with your heart, for you to like someone like her. Your heart doesn't pay you much heed and you know that the best thing for you to do is to leave at the end of the year. You know that your family will tease you mercilessly about falling prey to the jinx you had laughed at. The rest of the year is an absolute disaster. You're forever longing to look at her, to touch her, but you dare not. You only let your resolve falter after examinations are over but without any plan to act, only to memorize as something tells you that you won't see her again. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

You don't see her again for several years. You've flitted about like a bird between different lovers, male and female. You habitually chose brunettes and you like them better if their eyes are of the deepest chocolate as well. That's proof that you're pining for your sparrow even now but you've lived with that ache in your heart for this long. You think that you can survive the rest of your life without her. 

One day, quite by accident, you stumble upon her in a bookstore in Paris. She looks the same as before, with her hair a mess and her eyes bright. Before you can think about the ramifications of what you're doing, you strike up a conversation with her. You want to know how she's been. To your surprise, she answers in French. You had no idea that she knew your language but maybe it's not that shocking considering that she was always a bookworm. You answer in the same language and your heart is glad. For once in your meetings, you're able to sound intelligent, like someone she might be interested, instead of like a vapid blonde witch who can't speak properly. You offer to show her around and she accepts. 

You spend the entire of the next week with her. Just being with her makes you happy. You get to see her smile every single day and with each smile, you become more of a besotted fool. You haven't worked up the courage to tell her how you feel about her but now that she's smiling instead of frowning, you think you might one day. 

At the end of the week, she has a request of you. She wants you to take her clubbing. She wouldn't do it by herself, she explains, not in a foreign country in a city she doesn't know. But she feels safe with you and she'd like to have some fun. It makes you feel good to know that she feels safe with you and so you agree without thinking that you'll have to see her dancing with wizards instead of being by your side. 

You come to your senses before the appointed hour; however, it's too late to turn back. So you take her to your favorite club and you both sit down at your favorite table. You're asked to dance upon arrival but you refuse. You're not going to leave her alone. You're not going to stop watching her. She feels safe with you and you don't want to lose that trust. You're going to make sure that nothing bad happens to her tonight while she's trying to have fun in your country even if it means watching her all night. She's looking very lovely tonight and exposing quite a bit of skin as she sips at her drink. You're at a loss to explain why no one's asked her and you say as much. 

"It doesn't matter," she replies. "Sometimes it's nice just to sit back and listen." 

You agree with her and look away towards the dancers. While you think it's good for you that you don't have to watch her with others, you worry that she's not having fun like she wanted to. When you look back, you see a touch of liquor trailing down her chin. 

You lean over to lick it off. 

Her eyes widens and she gasps. She tilts her head up, exposing her neck, as if expecting you to continue downwards but you quickly pull away. You can't believe you just did that. 

She looks at you for a second, thinking about what to do. Coming to a decision, she nods her head. 

She empties the contents of her glass over her chest. 

"I've seemed to have made a mess," she says coyly. "Care to help me clean it off?" 

You're there before she finishes, ripping buttons in your impatience to get her blouse off. She's sitting there, with only a bra for a top, running her hands through your hair as you suck at her breasts. One of you asks the other to dance and before you know it, you're dancing together, breast to breast and hip to hip. She lets you run your hands all over her and you're doing your best to memorize her every curve in case you wake up to find that this is just a dream. She takes your hand in hers and leads you under her short, short skirt – and pretty soon, you get to watch her face contort in pleasure as you fuck her with your fingers. You tell yourself this has to be a dream, that she would never act like this, that it's the alcohol that's making her buck so wild against your hand, trying to prepare yourself for the letdown that's sure to come but you're enjoying hearing her call out your name too much. When she comes down from her high, she looks at you as if she's found something precious. 

"More?" she asks, and she lets you take her home.   


**fin**   
  


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